the Immortal Child
by empty-junkyard-gargoyle
Summary: Babette is the last of the Dark Brotherhood.


the Immortal Child

Babette sat at her friend's bedside, watching his chest rise and fall with every ragged breath. He was old now, their Listener, over a century, only a fourth of her own age. And he was dying.

She would be the last of the original family that survived the Massacre, save for the Night Mother of course, but still she would be the last. Her friends, two of the four to survive, were dead now, and the third was nearing his end.

Nazir, her oldest friend, was the first. He died doing what he loved - cooking for his family. He wasn't a young man by any means and he still had a lot of life left in him, but he was ready. The Dread Father was calling his name and he was ready to go.

In his last hours, he made a meal fit for any king, a meal to be shared with his loved ones, and share they did. They laughed and joked, and drank to the finest chef in all of Skyrim. And it was at this table afterwards that the man thanked his family for being there and told them how much he loved every one of them.

Then, just like that, he died. Nazir died with a smile on his face surrounded by those dearest to his heart.

Cicero, the Fool of Hearts, the Jester who loved to sing and dance, the Keeper to the Night Mother, was the second. He died in service to their Matron, in service to his beloved Mother. He had been ill for some time but he continued to tend to the Night Mother's corpse when his eternal assistant couldn't.

It was during a care routine that he simply passed on. The insane man laid at his Mother's feet and simply just...died. He, too, had a smile on his face.

And now the Listener was dying, he would be the third. He had been saying his time was coming for a few months now, and now it was here. He had been struck some time ago training the new Listener, but it wasn't the blow that was killing him. No, it was his body, it was giving out.

He's laid in bed for the past month, making the final preparations before he moved on. His hands shook whenever he tried to write or eat, his body ached with every movement, and the air rattled in his lungs when he breathed. But he was happy, despite his agony, he was happy. He helped rebuild the Dark Brotherhood to its former glory, it was now the strongest its ever been in a long time.

"Ba...Babette..." the man in the bed called out weakly, reaching for her.

"I'm here," she replied, taking his hand in her's. "What do you need? Water? Food?"

His dull eyes looked into her crimson ones, and he smiled softly at her. "I want...I want you to take...care of things for me...keep those youngsters in...in line, you hear? Guide...guide them on their paths...make sure they know that they're...that they're loved, okay?"

She nodded, afraid to speak. He squeezed her hands, trying to comfort her, and she squeezed back.

His eyes turned away from her, past the end of the bed, gazing upon something only he could see, and his smile broadened. With his last breaths rattling in his chest, he gave his final words -

"Kill well, and often."

"Kill well, and...and often," her voice trembled. His hand went limp.

Babette sat there, holding her friend's hand. He was gone now, the last of her family to survive the Massacre, was gone. His soul was in the Void with the rest of them, and she, she was here.

She was alone now, the vampire had out-lived them all. She was the last of her family.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to cry and scream.

She wanted to tear her heart out and join her family in the Void.

Her closest friends were gone, dead, no longer on Nirn. They've left her alone, the immortal child. They've left her here and she wanted to die.

But she didn't. She wouldn't. She couldn't die.

Not yet.

She had a job to do, a family to care for, young assassins to guide. She couldn't leave them to fend for themselves, not yet.

And she couldn't leave her Mother. She would need tending, gentle hands to oil her and preserve her corpse, and as Keeper, it was her job to tend to Mother's needs.

No, she wouldn't die, not yet.

She would survive.

* * *

* I do not, nor will I ever, own the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim and all it's characters. What I do own, however, is a brain that wakes me up in the middle of the night to write an idea that breaks my heart.

I hope you all enjoyed this story and I'm truly sorry if it's reduced you to tears.


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